A Hindu god, an elephant head
Sacred symbols, from a thousand year ago
Clothed in time’s fine delicacies
Beige white silk and golden embroidery
Draped over her ivory beige smooth
Pretty face maiden, like my mom
A crown of flowers on her head
His admiration of me is far away
And I get to learn about
Big picture problems
In the inner circle
Places made of fine earth, tan and beige
Spinning earth, below the mountains and on the valley
There’s a brick wall and people who live in tiny rooms that I enjoy watching
But it gets turned into high rails for a speedy subway systems
That engines through brick gaps and bumps, and I wonder if it’ll throw me out into the ocean while it titters around
Hindu god with the head of an elephant
Ancient beliefs upheld so dear
I dreamt about a god…
Amid an ocean of glistening gems
His chest heaves up and down, slowly
Like the waves.
The waters are gentle and warm
And they tease his skin sometimes
Making him smile at their playfulness.
Vishnu sleeps, above a bundle of anxious nerves
He sleeps sheltered underneath the umbrella of a cobra head
There’s gentle sounds of bells lulling him from somewhere
There’s a shower of fragrant flowers soothing his senses from the heavens above
There’s a soft glow in the rays from the sun god to the side
There’s a water goddess who he dreams of.
Vishnu sleeps, floating amass a boundless universe
Vishnu sleeps, through creation
The rivers overflow, the waterfalls rush down, the mountains crumble,
The volcanoes erupt, the ground rips apart,
And the vegetation freezes.
The world thaws, the butterflies come back,
Children laugh and hold hands
And the elderly wave their goodbyes
Life goes on,
in disappearing circles.
His chest heaving up and down, slowly
Cushioned over a bundle of wrecked serpentine nerves
His face glowing
His lips, smiling
Vishnu sleeps consciously
amid an open warm ocean
Inside the heart.
Pure as Ganga,
there you stand
before my eyes.
Dot on forehead
And the red powder along your parted hairs, like a red brick road.
The smell of roses, temples, and all things holy, heartbreaking, and nostalgic.
The thought of gods and a plate full of flowers for offerings,
Held by arms close to your frightened chest; a plate full of hopes and aspirations for your husband and children.
You are the adorable mothers of the east,
painfully sweet, and painfully strong for the sacrifices you’ve made.
In godly stone icons I see you
In every place of worship, you stand.
I miss you so
mothers, grandmas, aunties
You are so far away in my distant memory.
You shimmer along the flickering lamplights of the hilltop temple with your golden jewelry adorned,
Red beads around your neck and red cotton saree
Red dot on forehead and the red powder,
Holy and auspicious like goddess Laxmi
And I can never be half the woman you are.
She was born amidst an ocean of marigolds, unravelling herself within the golden globe